


on my side

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 17:55:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3390821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the accident, Allison gets stuck doing research and buying supplies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	on my side

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seraphina_snape](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seraphina_snape/gifts).



Allison isn’t happy to be ringing up one of Kate’s old contacts. It feels too much like working with her dead aunt, too close to that dark place she used to live in. But, as the others have so thoughtfully reminded her of for the last month, getting stabbed is a big deal and she needed to take it easy. So rather than carrying her bow, she’s buying some powder for Lydia’s spellwork- which would hopefully find the child-stealing witch before another abduction. 

Her knives are heavy in her pockets, and she reminds herself that Scott, Kira, and Isaac are just a panicked yelp away. This woman had no reason to harm her- unless of course, she was put on a list by more traditional hunters- but no, her Dad would have told her about that. Definitely. 

She knocks on the hotel door three times, and waits.

The door swings open to reveal a much younger woman than she expects, and she’s taken aback for a moment. She smiles, “Please come in Ms. Argent and stop playing with the knife in your boot.” 

Allison’s toes stop twisting, and she follows Bela, “My apologies, I was expecting…” 

Bela laughs and gestures to a couch in the living area, “Of course, Kate had a way of aging people in story, my condolences. For someone who’s taken on werewolves, I thought you’d be older as well.”

There’s a twinkle in Bela’s eyes, and Allison could spend hours trying to figure out what she was inferring. Instead, she reminds herself why she’s here. 

“We’re dealing with a nasty witch now. I was hoping you’d have some dragon scales?” Allison tries to keep the desperation out of her voice- they’d already asked every druid on the west coast, and Deaton’s only source would take another fifty years to shed their scales. 

Bela cocks her head, her smile turning more genuine. “You know, most hunters want expensive trinkets and amulets, anything to promise a little glory no matter the price. You’re the first one who’s trying to buy from me solely for hunting.” 

Allison’s heart drops over the _trying_ , and she should have known their luck wouldn’t fare any better here. 

“I could get you the scales, but it’d take at least six months- and I’m sure your schedule is a little tighter than that.” She _winks_ at that, and Allison’s never been so glad there aren’t any werewolves around, because her heartbeat trips and accelerates. “But I can trade you the location of your witch.” 

“How do you know where they are?” Allison asks before she can stop herself.

“The spirits are pretty chatty with me,” she answers briskly.

“And what do you want in exchange?” 

“Just a favor, it never hurts to have one of those from such an esteemed family.”

Allison’s stomach flips, and she’s sure the woman knows something more- but how bad could a favor really be? And could it be worse than the witch certainly stealing and doing god knows what to the children? 

“Deal.”

Bela scoots closer, their knees brushing. “Demons seal deals with a kiss, and while I don’t like many of their ways- it does add… a nice touch.” 

Allison’s kissing her before the words really process, and when they do, she pulls back suddenly, fingers reaching for her blade. 

Bela smiles, holding both daggers, “Easy there, I promise I won’t take your soul.”

**Author's Note:**

> (so timeline-wise, an alternate canon for teen wolf after season 3, and sometime post season 3 for spn)


End file.
